


house rules

by patho (ghostsoldier)



Series: a knife and a prayer [3]
Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-26 09:47:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostsoldier/pseuds/patho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are rules for what they do.</p>
<p>They haven't bothered to define them, but still.</p>
<p>There are rules.</p>
            </blockquote>





	house rules

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the "House Rules" photoset on tumblr.

_No. 1: You will wear no clothes in the house, unless they’re sexy._

Daud prefers him naked. 

Partially clothed is also acceptable. It makes Martin uneasy and there is something exquisite in his discomfort, but Daud far prefers him nude. He’s a pretty thing: trim and pale, dark hair. Written on his skin is an intriguing record of his life before the Abbey got their claws in him. A dangerous one, judging by the many scars.

And Martin’s a good little soldier-priest. Always waits for the order before he strips, which he does with precise, beautiful efficiency, watching Daud all the while.

He’s the perfect canvas. 

Daud has his own records to write. 

*

_No. 2: The correct response to most things is, “Yes, Sir.”_

“They call you _master_?”

Daud scowls and yanks the letter out of Martin’s hands. It’s not something he should be reading anyway.

“I don’t ask them to,” he snaps. Martin’s grin widens.

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” he says, and when Daud’s jaw tightens he laughs and eases from the bed in a smooth, feline movement.

“I’ll be damned,” he says. Marveling. “It _does_ ,“ and his eyes are very sharp and very intent and Daud doesn’t like where this is going.

Martin says, “ _Master_.” Voice low and dangerous. A _challenge_. 

Even though it means Martin’s won, Daud kisses him anyway. 

*

_No. 3: When spanked for being naughty, count._

Martin is alarmingly fond of pushing buttons he has no right to push. Daud usually ignores it.

Not this time.

His voice is shaking, and he doesn’t dare move his hips. “Count.” 

Martin’s protest breaks off with a startled cry when Daud slaps him again.

“I said, _count_.” 

And something strange and hot is rising in him at the sight of his handprints on Martin’s skin, the tremor in his voice as he counts them. Martin comes before he reaches the number ten, and Daud bends down, pushes his forehead against Martin’s shoulder, _breathes_.

Martin laughs, shakily, and says, “Ten.” 

*

_No. 4: Never be ashamed of getting wet._

Daud doesn’t know how long it’s been. He stopped keeping track a while ago; now he’s just curious to see how long he can drag it out. Martin’s a wreck, hands twisted in the bedsheets, skin gleaming with sweat. Eyes screwed tight, lower lip caught between his teeth. He all but _whines_ when Daud lightly brushes his fingers over the head of his cock. 

His fingers come back slippery. He resists the urge to taste. “So responsive,” he murmurs instead.

Martin makes a sound that’s half laugh, half moan, and all frustration. “So _do_ something.”

Daud just smiles. “No. Not yet.” 

*

_No. 5: Always say please and thank you._

Martin’s lovely when he begs.

He’s so cocky at first. He says, “please,” but the look in his eyes says, “I dare you,” and Daud makes him pay for it, every time. Goes slower when Martin wants fast, sets a punishing pace when Martin gasps, “ _wait_.” He can read every needy line of Martin’s body and adapts his tactics accordingly, and there’s always a sense of triumph when the challenge of Martin’s not-begging turns to real, genuine pleas.

Martin says, “Please,” and Daud says, “ _No_.”

Martin groans, “I _can’t_ ,” and Daud says, “You can.” 

Even when he’s wrong, he wins.

*

_No. 6: The proper position is on your knees._

Daud likes the room quiet when they do this. Likes hearing Martin’s muffled groans, the wet, slippery sounds of his mouth. There is something terribly appropriate in Martin kneeling for it, and Daud allows himself to be a little more gentle than usual. Braces against the wall with one hand, slides the fingers of the other through Martin’s hair.

Martin had knelt with surprising ease, his hands deft as he unfastened Daud’s trousers and drew him out. His mouth is wet and sweet and hot, and utterly perfect. Like he was made to be on his knees.

Maybe he was.

*

_No. 7: Ask for permission before you come._

He tries not to think too hard about how he likes when Martin _fails_. When he says, “No,” and Martin shakes apart anyway, face red and body drawn tight as he tries to fight the inevitable. He finds himself doing it on purpose. When he _knows_ Martin is on the edge, when he’s begging for permission. He sets his teeth at the join of Martin’s neck and shoulder and tells him to wait.

Ignores his own flush of pleasure when Martin’s voice cracks.

“Please,” Martin rasps, “can I—“

Daud tells him, _no_ , and it’s beautiful when Martin still shatters. 

*

_No. 8: Remember who you belong to._

The fact that Martin is still an Overseer irks him more than he’d like to admit. He takes great pleasure in punishing him for it quiet, subtle ways.

“The Sixth Stricture,” he says. “If you hesitate, or miss a word, you have to start over.”

For a holy man, Martin’s got a mouth on him. He’s insulting Daud’s parentage when Daud stills his hand, holds Martin’s hips down with his other hand.

“The Sixth,” he says.

And he strokes Martin through it, faster as Martin stutters, and when Martin loses words entirely Daud takes his hand away and smiles. “Again.”

*

_No. 9: Swallow every single drop._

They don't talk about it. The Abbey, or Daud’s powers, the increasingly dangerous nature of what they’re doing. Martin bends beautifully, but Daud’s concerned he’s not bending fast enough. Martin’s sharp; at some point he’s going to figure out this careful, delicate dance of theirs and it’s much too soon for that.

So in the meantime Daud pushes, just hard enough. He uses his tethering, holds Martin still, exults in his discomfort and faintly confused arousal. And after, while Martin’s dozing, Daud traces lines of power on his skin. 

Martin takes it. He takes it _all_ , and Daud thinks, “Someday.” 

*

_No. 10: Wear your bruises with pride._

Because Daud doesn’t want a Martin who blindly follows and never questions. It would be a waste. Practically criminal.

But to let him get away entirely would be a crime of a different sort, and so Daud writes his claim on every inch of Martin’s skin. Teeth marks and bruises, the half-moon indent of fingernails. Chafe marks on his wrists. Handprints.

After, he watches Martin take inventory as he dresses. The way he catalogues every mark, every bruise. Pale eyes sharp.

Martin says, “If I didn’t know better…”

Daud snaps, “You don’t.” 

Martin’s smile is quiet. Too knowing. “We’ll see.”


End file.
